To Put Suffering to an End
by Moonsp1r1t
Summary: Malik's death and beheading from the Secret Crusade. One-Shot.


I missed them. My beautiful wife. My child, whom I have never even seen; I was thrown in there before he or she was born. He or she would probably be two soon. Of course, once she found out, my wife and I had talked about names; Kifah if it's a girl, Tazim if it's a boy. When Sef was murdered, my wife was about six months pregnant. I had asked the guards desperately about what had happened two months later, but they wouldn't tell me anything. I couldn't help but think, _I'm missing it. I'm missing my child's life._

How long had it been since I had been unjustly thrown into the dungeon of Masyaf, accused of the murder of my best friend's son? It had been much more than a year, that much I knew. Probably two. Maybe more. My only hope was that Altaïr would return soon and sort out this mess. When I wasn't longing to see my family at least one last time, or wishing for Altaïr to return, I would be consumed in a downwards spiral of hopelessness. At times I found myself wishing for my death... for my misery to end.

It wasn't so bad at first. The first couple of days I found myself waiting for that whole mess to be cleared up, so that things would go back to normal, and write a letter to Altaïr explaining what had happened, and that his youngest son was dead. However, as time stretched on, it became apparent that was not going to happen. So I ended up staying down there, in the dungeons of Masyaf, my clothes slowly turning to rags, my body becoming nothing but skin stretched over a skeletal frame, my cell stinking terribly of my own piss, as they only brought me food once a week and they never cleaned the cell.

At one point I awoke to the sound of my cell being unlocked. I was laying on the stone floor of the cell, as it did not have any beds. I continued to lay in fetal position, with my eyes closed, not particularly caring who it was. I figured it was just another guard here to mock me some more, or kick me on his way out. It wouldn't have been the first time. Besides, it was much too early for them to bring me food again. The last time I ate was the day before yesterday. To my surprise the hand that touched me on the shoulder was gentle, and not at all rough. I opened my eyes blearily to look up at a blurry white figure. Slowly the face of Altaïr swam into view, his eyebrows drawn together slightly in worry.

"Can you walk, my friend?" Altaïr asked.

Relief and gratitude washed over me. I couldn't believe it; I was actually getting out of here. I was _actually, finally_ getting out of this nightmare. Altaïr was back; everything was going to be okay now. _He'll put things right. I know he will._

"For you, I can walk." I said, attempting a smile, but failing miserably.

Altaïr gently helped me to my feet. I gripped his shoulder tightly with my one arm, my knees shaking, my ankles wobbling. I only managed a couple of steps before nearly toppling over. Mentally, I cursed my weakness, but I knew that there wasn't anything to be done. There wasn't anything I _could_ do. Altaïr took my arm and slung it over his shoulders. He lead me through the hall, away from the cell that had been my living hell for Allah knows how long. I couldn't believe that I was actually getting out of there.

"Wait." Altaïr hissed quietly in my ear, lowering me down gently against the wall.

He disappeared around the corner for a moment or so, returning with an unconscious guard slung over his back. I watched Altaïr take the guard and put the unconscious assassin in my cell before picking me up again.

We walked through the tunnel, or at least Altaïr walked and I stumbled along, trying not to be too much of a burden. Eventually, when we exited the tunnel, moonlight washed over us. The stars glimmered like diamonds above, and the sky was a shade of deep sapphire. The moon was large and completely circular, shining beautifully. There were tiny wisps of clouds streaking through the sky, and the air smelled faintly of mist. I nearly started weeping at the sight of it; I thought I would never see the sky again.

Altaïr carried me to the ladders of the tower, before we headed down, then we headed down the ramparts. I kept staring at the sky, wanting to fix this moment in my mind forever, so I was barely paying attention when Altaïr descended the wall of the citadel, and eventually making his way to a small residence. He shot a sweeping glance around, making sure there were no guards to see, before pushing the door open.

"Maria?" Altaïr called.

From another room the English woman poked her head out. That's when I noticed, with a jolt, how much older she and Altaïr looked. For some reason this surprised me faintly, even though I knew full well that it had been ten years since I had last saw them both. Of course they would have aged. I knew I had.

"Oh my goodness." Maria said, her tone hushed as she took in my appearance.

She rushed forward and helped her husband sit me down on a pallet. Together the two of them buzzed around the little room, Altaïr grabbing me a piece of bread and some cheese, which I wolfed down greedily, Maria getting me some water in a beaker. I tried to hold the beaker myself, but my hand was too shaky and it refused to work properly, so she sat at my side and gave me sips of the cool, soothing liquid. I marveled at how clean it was; it seems I had forgotten just how fantastic clean water could taste.

"Thank you." I gasped after a couple of sips.

I attempted to pull myself up a little higher in the bed, and in doing so I noticed that Maria's eyes were bloodshot from crying, and there were dark circles under her eyes. _Of course she had been crying. She must have found out about Sef's murder. Her son is dead, had been dead for two years, and she didn't know about it._

My expression darkened, and I shifted was from her slightly. I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve their kindness. Their youngest son was dead, and although I was not the one who had committed the deed as I had been accused, it could have been avoided if I were more diligent, if I were stronger. Not only that, but the leadership of the Order fell to Abbas, and it's probably in shambles because of that fact.

"What happened to Sef?" Altaïr demanded.

"Murdered." I said honestly, my voice hoarse, "Two years ago Abbas staged his coup. He had Sef murdered, then had the murder weapon placed in my room. Another Assassin swore he heard Sef and me arguing, and Abbas brought the Order to the conclusion that it was I that was responsible for Sef's murder."

Altaïr and Maria exchanged a glance. I looked down at my lap, ashamed, my single hand curling into a fist. The matching looks of fury and sadness on their two faces was unbearable for me to witness. While I can't say I feel the same way, I can't imagine the pain they were feeling just then, but I understand it. In fact, I felt very similar when I had found out about Sef's murder, and not just because I was the accused. I was very fond of both of Altaïr's children.

"I'm sorry." I said lowly, my voice still weak, "I couldn't send a message while I was in prison. Besides, Abbas controlled all communications in and out of the fortress. No doubt he has been busy changing other ordinances during my imprisonment, for his own benefit."

"He has." Altaïr said darkly, "It seems he has supporters on the council."

"I'm sorry, Altaïr." I said again, looking up at him and meeting his golden eyes, "I should have anticipated Abbas' plans. For years after your departure he worked to undermine me. I had no idea he had managed to command such support." I paused and looked down at my lap again before continuing, "It would not have happened to a stronger leader. It would not have happened to you."

"Don't trouble yourself. Rest, my friend." Altaïr said quietly, motioning for Maria to follow him out of the room.

I sighed and settled into the bed, hearing Altaïr and Maria's voices talk quietly in hushed tones in the next room. Despair washed over me once more as I fell asleep in the lumpy, over stuffed bed that felt like heaven, after the cold, urine-soaked stone floor of my cell, wondering if there was anything I could do to repent for all of the grief and chaos I allowed to happen...

I awoke to a creaking sound. I sat up in the bed, delirious in my sleep, momentarily wondering where I was and why the dungeon floor was suddenly so comfortable before the events of the last few hours came rushing back to me.

"Altaïr?" I called out.

There was no reply. Alarm bells went off in my head, and my brow furrowed. I threw the covers off of me, and slid my malnourished legs off of the bed silently. I made an attempt to stand, swaying momentarily before throwing out my hand against the wall to steady me. I spotted a sheathed sword in the corner across from me and hobbled over to it. I grabbed it, noticing how heavy it was, but not particularly caring. I wasn't intending to use the sword as a weapon; I was only going to use it as a cane.

I made my way into the main room, squinting in the gloom. The fireplace still had small fragments of ambers glowing within, but it was not enough to see. The furniture caste dark shadows about the room.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my every instinct screamed, _Run!_

Reflexively I ducked just as something glimmering silver swooshed where my neck had been moments before. I stumbled away, swinging wildly with the still sheathed sword. There was a muffled grunt as it hit my attacker in the side. I used the sheath to steady myself again as I whipped around to face my attacker. My eyes fell on a large, jagged scar on the man's left cheek.

_Swami. Of course._ He had been the Novice that trained directly under Abbas, until about five years ago. I wouldn't even be surprised if he was the one who murdered Sef.

Swami's face was warped into a sneer, and he flicked his wrist slightly, drawing my eyes towards his drawn hidden blade. I leaned my left shoulder against the wall and braced the sheath against my knees and drew out the sword I could barely lift. Once again I cursed my frail state and missing arm. At least that way I would have stood a chance. I knew I was going to die, probably in a painful, horrible way, but I'll be damned if I didn't go out fighting.

Swami lunged at me, and I ducked, his blade narrowly avoiding my head as its tip scraped against the wall. I swung at him with the sword, but he danced out of the way. Unfortunately I couldn't get too close, as I needed to be close to the wall for support. It went on for several minutes, but it seemed to take forever. Eventually Swami got close enough and kicked me in the shins. My knees buckled beneath me, and I collapsed; or at least I would have if Swami hadn't grabbed the collar of the rags I was still wearing.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. My hand involuntarily dropped the sword, and it reached out to claw at the assassin's hand. Swami's other arm reached back, his hidden blade extended, and it jabbed forward. The blade pierced my neck and Swami's fist made contact with my face as the blade pushed deeper and deeper into my flesh. For a moment we stand there, frozen, in our macabre dance of death. After a few seconds, or maybe a thousand years, Swami retracted his hidden blade, jerking it out of my neck, and splattering his robes with red. His other hand released my collar.

And I fell. The world whirled below me, my esophagus filling with my own blood. Once I hit the ground, I couldn't breath; there was just too much blood. My eyes were bulging as they stared at Swami, who's face was drawn into a sneer of triumph. Out of the wound on my neck poured more blood, which was quickly forming into a large puddle beneath me. I watched as Swami knelt down next to me. Still with that sadistic smile he pulled out a short, clean knife with a jagged edge. He pressed the blade to my neck and began to saw.

I tried to scream and yell; I tried to escape, but I couldn't. I was immobilized as Swami continued to attempt to separate my head from my shoulders.

The darkness came with the terrible, rhythmic sawing motion of my murderer's blade.

* * *

><p>Everyone's favorite part of the <em>Secret Crusade<em>, I'm sure, from Malik's point of view.

And about the thing at the beginning with Tazim... he was twenty two when Altair returned to Masyaf after his exile, which means that he was two when Malik died. Malik was in jail for two years, which means that there is a very real possibility he never met Tazim.


End file.
